


Red

by AbbeyTheWeeb



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Absent Parents, Angst, Brothers, Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28509855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbeyTheWeeb/pseuds/AbbeyTheWeeb
Summary: All Alexander was doing was playing ball with James. That is all. They wanted Peter to join in, be like a child again. Alexander never expected that he'll see the corpse of his cousin.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & James Hamilton Jr. (c.1753-1786)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> tw - suicide, suicidal thoughts

“Alexander!” James hollers from the other side of the small field, there is a smile on his face for once. He claps and kicks the ball towards me and I stop it with his heel. He laughs. “Get Peter! You know how much he enjoys this!”

Indeed, he does. He always tells us how much he loves sports and how much he played them when he was a young lad. But now, he has no time for that, he has to work on his job, he has to take care of us, and he has to sleep when he has time to do so. Seeing him scares me, sometimes I do not wish to become an adult and follow in his footsteps. I throw the ball to my brother and he catches it. “Okay, Jamie! I’ll be right back!”

Then I run off, following the path to the house, running the fastest I can. I pass people of high status, how they walk so formally and at a slow pace with their canes. The ground is rough and hot from the sun shining above and it hurts my bare feet, yet I still keep running, I need to tell Peter. He needs to be a child again. 

I always see Peter as dull, but more than James. He has bags under his eyes, all grey with a bit of purple. He is tired, he barely gets enough sleep. He has been getting sleep more often, the people at his job gives him more hours after his wife died. For being a man who lives on an island, his skin is pale. He used to get freckles, yet he does not anymore and they are fading away. I think he does not have time to be a child again, work and sleep, work, and sleep. Is that what an adult does? I don’t know. 

Is it because his wife passed away? I know how people change when a lover does not come back, I’ve seen it with my mother when my father left. Her face went white on the fifteenth day and I could hear her sobs when I was ten. I wish she was alive, though. I know it’s been so long since I’ve seen my father, yet I know he is coming back. I know he wants to see me. I know it, I think James has given up hope, yet I have not. He will knock on the door and hug me and yell, “look at my son! My beautiful son! Look how much you grew, my Alexander!”

I finally reach the house of my cousin, it looks so tiny from the outside. I know he is there, well, I think he is in there. The smile on my face widens. “Peter!” I shout, “Peter!”

There is silence and I bite my lip lightly. Perhaps he is asleep, that’s what he normally does. I yell again, “Peter! Peter! We are playing ball!”

Again, there is nothing and my determination grows larger and larger. I walk up to the door and yell his name again and I pause, I hear no groaning or snoring, just silence. Maybe he is out, getting food. And yet, this is strange. He never goes out, he makes my brother and I get the food from the market always. I open the door and yell again. “Peter?” 

I peer into the kitchen and he is not there, there is only a lonely plate on the table, along with the three chairs: mine, his, and my brother’s. I check the room where my brother and I sleep in, he is not there, yet the beds are neatly made. Peter must have come in and made them for us. I click my tongue though, what if he is hiding from me? 

The only room that I have not checked on is his room. I am not allowed in it. When my brother and I first came here after the death of our sweet mother, we were given a set of rules by Peter. The first one was to never, ever go in his room. He told us this in a serious voice, also. I do not know why we are not allowed to go in there, but I do understand. My cousin does not like us to be in his personal space, he hates being touched. 

My cousin is a strange fellow, but aren’t we all? 

I go up to his door and pause, should I knock on it? At first, I put my ear to the wooden door and I heard something. I cannot tell if it is breathing or wind flowing into the room. I hold my breath and it is the same sound. If he is in there, why is he being so quiet? I knock it carefully. “Hey, Peter?” 

No answer. 

If he is honestly there, I should leave him. He chooses to be there and I do not want to disobey his rules and remain in good trust with him, he is the only family except James that I have left. My curiosity pulls my hand to the doorknob and then I turn my hand and push the door, waiting to see his room for the first time. 

Red. 

Have I ever seen such a strange color? Many will declare my hair is red, yet it is more orange than the actual color red. But red… the color red… it’s a strange, and odd color. It’s the color where the British soldiers wear when they walk along the street. My mother could never afford the color red. My father, however, had one coat that was red. Did he still have it? It does not matter now. And yet, I am not familiar with the color of bright red. It looks even brighter on the other color white. 

The red feels strange on my hands, warmth. That’s the first thing I feel, warmth. Fire can sometimes be red and it can burn, It’s too much warmth, it hurts. This is a warmth that is possible to touch, yet it’s painful. More painful than fire. My heart beats faster and faster, the red on my palms, my eyes are on them, the red spreads on the floor and it begins puddles forming on my hands. My breath sharpens. 

I cannot breathe and I do not know what to think. All I see is the color red, the white is now gone on the bed. I try to remember the time where I was with my brother, playing ball. Can I go back to it? I can never, of course. My tears blur, I don’t know what has happened. 

I hear someone and it takes me a while to know who it is since my mind is blank. I realize it’s my brother as he shouts my name over and over. I feel his presence and he tugs on my sleeve harshly and still does not move. He yells in my ear over and over and over and over… his voice louder than a gunshot, the whole island will hear. I do not cry at all. 

I gradually look down to see my hands again. Red. They are all red now. I cannot breathe. I know this feeling all so well. What is my mother doing in Heaven? Staring down at me? Where is everyone, my brother is there screaming in my ear, but I feel… relaxed… or more perhaps… shock. Can you feel shocked? I don’t know but I feel it. 

I hear more loud noises and there are heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. My head feels fuzzy and it starts to hurt, yet all the pain goes to my neck as someone grabs my dirty cravat. They slap my face, painfully hard. 

“Speak, boy! Did you do this?” the man yells in my face, he looks angry and I can tell he is an officer. I bet there will be other people coming in to see what has happened. “Speak!” 

Tears start to fall from my eyes and down onto my cheeks, coming down fast. The officer appears to be outraged at what has happened. I glance down at my hands and the blood is on them, I look like the culprit. “No, sir! I found him like this! I swear!”

I stare at my cousin’s limp body and the hole in his head looks so fresh, yet it’s that young to happen before I came in. I have never seen a wound that looks so menacing, yet there is want in it. Who would want this? The hole in the middle of his forehead, Peter had such a nice forehead with no scars or pimples, but now there it is, oozing blood out of the hole. The gun is on the floor and I do not even recognize it at all. What happened? I look at his chest, his undershirt soaked in blood and he is not breathing at all, it is forever still. 

The officer forcefully grabs my cravat again with his two large hands and my feet are lifted from the ground. I feel like I'm about to choke or vomit, I am so frightened and I choke down a sob. He yells, “who did this, then?”

“I… I don’t know,” I mumble and squeal out a sob, it sounds so dry. I wiggle my legs, I want them to be put down. I’m petrified, what if they turn me in? Does that even matter? Maybe it will be for the better, people drop dead everywhere I go. 

The officer finally lets go of my cravat and I collapse onto a puddle of blood and it splashes a bit. Some of the blood goes in my hair, latching on, it feels wet and my clothes are stained, I can’t breathe, I am choking on my breath, words, anything… my hand goes up to my cravat and my throat burns. I lightly touch my forehead, what did it feel like with a hole in my forehead?

I toss my head and I do not realize that I am so close to the hand of my cousin. It’s hanging off the bed and looks so pale. Even paler than before, it’s expected since he is dead. Who did this? Was it him who killed himself? If he did, then why? All these things happening at once, I wish to scream and run away from this awful place. 

A few other men come in and their eyes are alarmed at the sight of Peter’s dead body. My brother just stands there, he looks calm and collected with his emotions. He occurs to not be surprised at all. How? How? I am angered by this, why was I the one to leave and get my cousin, only to stumble upon his dead and decomposing body.

“You think it is him?” one of the officers asks. “The little boy who is sitting in that blood?”

“Listen, sir,” James swallows, he stands tall as if he is used to all of this, “my brother is a good lad. He wouldn’t kill him, at all. My brother doesn’t know how to handle a gun. Peter has been very down recently… perhaps depressed. I think my cousin has committed suicide.”

“Should we even believe you?” another officer barks, he is even taller than my brother and I shrink when he yells. “Your mother was a fucking whore, all whore’s children lie!”

“My mother isn’t a whore!” I scream, I hold my legs and begin rocking myself and start to wail quietly. I want her so bad, I want her to hold me. I feel so alone, my ears hurt. My cheek burns from the slap I got from the officer. 

“Alexander, please,” James comments, only to go back to speaking. I glance at him, he appears a little hurt from the remark from the officer, yet he does not stand up for our dead, sweet mother. He is a coward! My brother, my blood, is a coward! He talks peacefully. “Listen, sir, I live with my cousin. He is a depressed man and I know my brother is too naive to bring himself to murder. When I came in, I think he was frozen in shock. Many people have left my brother’s life and it’s hard for him to understand.” 

“We’ll get a doctor in here,” an officer says. “I believe the boy, Now, why don’t you two wait outside. We need to observe the body.”

“Thank you, sir,” my brother bows down his head in respect. He looks hideously clean compared to me, having blood all over myself. 

He steps over and crouches down to get on my level. I hid my face with my knees, yet I still stare at him. He does not say any comforting words to me. “Come on, Alex,” he slightly tugs on my arm. I don’t want to leave. I scream in his face and he grumbles in return. “Let’s go,” he sternly says, yet I stay put. Sadly, he is stronger than me physically and he picks me up and I push away from him, crashing to the floor. 

I stare at my cousin’s corpse, his eyes are shut, and will never be able to open them again. One of his arms lays off the bed and it’s stiff and that red color is everywhere. I wonder how much blood is in one person. Yet, he is dead, dead like almost everyone I knew and loved. I want Peter back. I want my mother back. I want my father back. I still have my brother, yet I question my love for him as he drags me on the floor, leaving a small path of the blood I was sitting on.

“No!” I scream and scream, I am acting like a child but I do not care. He drags me a bit harder as I latch my foot on the crook of the door and for the last time, I see Peter’s bloody corpse. Then James drags me out in the kitchen and places me in the corner and I sob, my throat is becoming hoarse. Finally, he lets go of me.

Before I run back and see the corpse, he squats down in front of me. “Listen, Alexander, I know it’s really difficult to realize what has happened, but you need to stay calm.”

Anger boils in my veins, I cannot contain it. “I know what fucking happened! Our cousin fucking sliced his neck! He killed himself! And you didn’t stand up for our mother!” 

My voice is loud and I can see more and more people gather around the house to see what has happened from the doorway. Congrats to them, viewing my life as their entertainment! James looks hurt what I have said, but I don’t give a flying fuck. Then his expression turns into that stern face again, that stupid stern face! “Listen, Alexander, you need to understand that our mother was a whore, what she did fits the definition.” 

“Shut up!” I shrill in his face and then gasp for breath. The feeling is familiar each time I sob. I gasped my hardest when I was near my mother waking up. Realizing she died, draped in white. She was not a whore, yet my traitor brother believes she is! He is no Hamilton, he is no Faucette either! He simply does not fit in the ranks! Oh, I miss her so much… I miss her and my father...

“Alexander, please calm down-”

“Are you telling me to calm down after seeing my cousin drenched in blood?” I scream into his face, he looks so confused about my sadness. I want to see my mother and I want to see my father. Why can't we be a happy family again? When will life be normal for me? 

Possibly when I reach the sacred Heaven or the burning pit of Hell. 

James sits on the dusty wooden floor and attempts to comfort me, yet I flinch away from his touch. His hand feels warm yet for me, it feels icy. Finally, I let him touch me and he rubs my back but I find nothing. I don’t find comfort. I don’t feel that warmth or the least bit of happiness to remind me that I still have a family. I want my mother, I want to hug her dearly. She had warm hugs. But she is never coming back. 

I think of my father, how when I was younger he ruffled my red curls and told me I was a true Scottish boy. How he would tuck me in goodnight, how he loved me. James was blinded from that love, thinks it was not there, Yet I see it. It was not as a mother’s love, mothers are much more compassionate with their children. I remember my father for the last time, telling us he will be away for a while. It’s been years, yet sometimes a while means years.

“I want to see papa,” I whimper and I dig my nails into my legs. 

“Alexander,” James began, his hand stopping on my back. He has that stupid stare that's so stern and serious, I want to scream and yell and scream again to tell him it is stupid. Then he says, “he isn’t coming back.” 

“Papa said it will be a while,” I wheeze, I’m losing my voice from crying, another thing I will lose. It will come back though, unlike Peter. But it will come back, just like father. I can imagine him arriving on the island and seeing all the commotion from outside of Peter Lytton’s house and see his two boys. He will rush to the door, yelling and falling to the floor, embracing his two sons. “He will, he loves us, James. He loves me! Why can’t you see that? Or is he a tramp to you, like how our mother is a whore to you?”

“Alexander, shut up,” James yells at me, the first time his voice goes that boisterous. He gets on his feet and he hovers over me and stares me down, his gaze is like a hawk and I am petrified. I am quickly intimidated and I swallow. “Alexander, he did not love us. Are you that senseless? If he did have love, he would be with our mother still. He left us, Alexander. He did not go to the stupid market, he did not go on a trip, he left us. He stopped caring for us, we are simple to him. He does not care the slightest bit about us! Now, don’t suspect he will be here, now!”

I shriveled up and bit my lip, hard, drawing a bit of blood. I will not look into my brother’s words, all he is saying is gibberish to me, things I do not wish to hear. But I did hear. The thoughts of defeat roar in my brain, the family I have left, Peter and mother, are dead. The family, the ones I love. James is a behemoth, staring down at me. I could feel my gut being twisted from his gaze. 

He makes me feel like prey. I need to escape, now. I need to be away from this monster of a brother. I want to see my cousin. I want to see my father. I want to see my dear mother. What does he want? James is the one that has to watch over me now, I suppose, but I don’t want him to take care of me! My legs need to get exercise, they wish to spring and get away from everything.

I finally have the courage to get up and I scramble, my brother tries to grab me and luckily I dodge his grasp. I growl, he is a traitor to this very family. He is a traitor to me! I want my cousin, mother, and father, over and over. My heart burns with pain. Father, help me!

I need to run away and search for him. I exactly know what he looks like, I have his red hair and his freckles. He called me his little Scottish boy. I find my legs moving, rushing me out of the door, rushing past all of the people that are chatting about what has happened. My legs quicken the pace as I look at their faces, they are all evil, so I curse at them. All of them can fuck off and I yell and scream and I run, run, run, run, they mean nothing to me! My feet sting from the hard dirt ground and my mind hurt harder, the feeling is pounding in my head.

I hear my brother yell for my name, urging me to come back, but why should I? I don’t want to be with him, I want to be with my father, I want to see my mother… I need to be alone. This island is an awful place, full of fools that make their entertainment over a life like mine. This island is Hell, why was I brought to a place like Hell? I’m a bastard, everyone says bastards burn in Hell along with their mothers, No, those people will go to Hell and I will rise and meet my mother. 

I remember her so fondly, how sweet she was and how loving she was. She always wanted me to be happy, but now I am not, she isn’t here. All I have is my idiotic sterned face brother. 

I am finally away from everyone, there is no one around and I have reached the end of the path. The end is the beach, the sand white and glowing from the sun up above. I slowly walk to the sand, my ruined feet get even more ruined from the soft sand, it burns and claws at my skin. I sink down to my knees and bite my lip hard, I can feel blood oozing out. 

I look at the water’s horizon, it is flat. The sky looks so beautiful and blue and the clouds look comfortable as if they were the angel’s beds. I wonder if they look below, seeing all the people that have not reached eternity yer. I wish to see what they see, looking at all the people that have shamed me. I wish to be with them… is this wrong to think this? Was this what Peter thought to himself before he grabbed the gun? I’m sorry mother, I wish to suffer no more.

I collapse, even more, my hands bang on the sand, and my forehead presses onto it. I wish for the tide to become high this very minute and sweep me away! How can I drown? People say a shark can detect you if you have a cut leaking out blood. I need something, I need something to press my skin and create a little cut, anything… Dear God, thank you for this life, yet I do not wish to have it anymore!

I look at my hands and outfit, they are covered in my cousin’s blood. I look like I am a maniac, perhaps I am. I touch my cheek and there is some blood on it too, I am covered. I am covered in my cousin’s suicide, does that mean I should continue his path?

My blood roars inside my veins faster and faster, my head hurts so much, the image of Peter’s head flashes through my mind, at first, it’s normal, he’s only sleeping on his bed and then the hole into his brain is there… oh, stop it! I want to see mama! I want to embrace her once again! She was not a whore, she was a wonderful and courageous woman! She is a mother... my mother! 

My father isn’t coming back, is he? The blood in my head enrages my headache further. My brother is true, my father hates me! He is fake, I am not his little Scottish boy! I’m just an annoyance for him! He is fake and still lives, mother wasn’t fake and she is dead!

I want to feel her embrace again, like the one when we were sick, how strong it was, in that bed full of fever, and she dies! I want to feel her motherly love, please God, I beg of you, quicken the tide and I will drown in the salty water, salty like my tears! I will not be alone anymore!

I cannot breathe anymore, the sadness has overtaken me, I bang my fist in the sand, harder and harder, yet it’s soft, unlike the wood in my cousin’s house. I hold my breath and I can hear the waves tumble in the distance, they sound so peaceful, and the seagulls, they are in the distance, looking fat with fish. Everything for once looks so beautiful… nothing like Peter’s house. 

I want to see my mother, but what will she say when she sees me in eternity? She would be angry and upset that I have killed myself. She would want me to live. She always said that there are hope and light at the end of every dark tunnel. She never got out of hers, but perhaps I’m supposed to be the one that gets out of it, for us. I want to continue my mother's legacy. If James won’t do it, I will continue Rachel Faucette’s legacy!

I touch my forehead and even though it hurts, it's not penetrated by a bullet, I am still alive, I will not suffer the same fate of my cousin, shooting myself to end the pain. Peter will want me to live, I can feel it in my veins, his spirit is here, begging me to find that light under the tunnel, I can feel my mother’s spirit cradling me as if I am a baby again, she will want me to survive.

I stand up, my feet hurt and red from Peter’s blood but they are not ruined and to the horizon of the sea. The sky is starting to set and the sky looks beautiful, I can feel all the people in my life hiding from me, loving me. I cannot see them but I feel their love, I can feel it! 

Is it possible for me to find that love with a person that lives in this place at the moment? I have not everyone on the island. At once, I think of my brother. Instead of thinking he is a traitor, I now see his love, I only thought it was cold as our father’s. He speaks the truth, but for the events that happened, he was angry and rude, I was too. We’ve never seen a dead person that leaked blood everywhere. 

I rub my eyes, eventually, I need to leave the beach and join him again, he needs someone. He is alone right now, what has he been doing for the past hour with me not around? With all those terrible officers that were questioning him? I breathe slowly and start walking back, waiting to see my brother, my kin, the one I need, the one I left. 

As I walk to my house, everyone that I pass stares at me. They mostly stare at the dried bloodstains and how odd I look, but they do not say anything. I think the news of how a boy fell in his dead suicidal cousin’s blood and then ran off reached all the corners of St. Croix, so I am fine if I do not get caught. I can feel my feet and they burn, but I urge on. I think of my mother and the beautiful smile she had on her face.

The sky starts to turn into a creamy orange color as I reach the lonely house. It is overshadowed by the palm trees, yet there are a ton of people there still. I spot a little table on the door and there is a body that is covered in clean white sheets, no bloodstains at all. It has dried, it is the end of the day. 

People turn their heads and they are surprised to see me again, they all gasp and I humbly lower my head. They all gasp, as if I am their little performance and I want to yell at them, but my throat cannot take it. I cannot take anymore yelling and I cannot even call for my brother. I swallow down, my mouth is dry.

“Alexander?”

I look up and there he is James Hamilton, in the doorway of the house. He has the appearance of sadness, he has been crying, furiously, his eyes are red and puffy. He looks beyond stressed. The realization has got to my brother, our cousin has died, meaning there is nowhere left to go and stay on this island. There is another realization that hits him right now, his brother is back. 

He approaches me quickly, yet he does not touch me, he gives me space. His gaze is concerning but overjoyed. He mumbles, “Alex, I’m sorry, I was being too harsh… I’m so sorry… please don’t run off again, I need you. Please. We are two brothers, we stick together… right, little brother?”

I nod quietly, James is dreading a hug, I can feel it. I stare at the limp body under the white sheet, my brother is the only thing I have left. “Please hug me,” I manage a whisper, my throat is scratchy. 

He immediately does what I ask him to do, he wraps his arms around me, tightly, hanging his head low to my shoulder. His embrace does not feel icy, it feels lukewarm, like our mother’s. I can hear him sob uncontrollably on my shoulder he clutches my back. I murmur, “I’m sorry I yelled.” 

“Alexander, no it’s my fault, please… just please… don’t leave me again…” 

I can remember my mother, how pretty she was when she was alive. For a moment, I think I see her in the doorframe of the house, leaning against it. Her hair is over her shoulders and she has a bittersweet smile and little tears are streaming down her face. Her eyes scream that she wants me to stay alive and then she vanishes in the air, possibly to join my cousin.

I will stay alive for you, mother.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
